Take Her Away
by Eternity Locket
Summary: The grim reapers have finally captured Undertaker. However, making him speak is going to be even harder than catching him. Undertaker has nothing to fear, for he has nothing to lose. Except, perhaps, that last hidden treasure he still holds dear...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.**

**A/N: This story is based off a headcanon that could be disproven very soon. Oh well, fanfiction is for fun! Many thanks to Shadowclanwarrior for beta-reading this story :)**

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><p>Undertaker slowly opened his eyes. Even through his extremely short-sighted vision, he could tell he was no longer in the human world. He blinked rapidly as shockingly bright light assaulted his eyes and rocked his head forward to protect them with his overgrown fringe. Metal restraints were locked firmly around his wrists and ankles to prevent him moving from the chair he had been bound to. They had been tightened to the point of pain, but Undertaker considered them with nothing more than mild amusement. <em>Hee hee… the little grim reapers felt the need to tie me up sooooo tightly! They are desperate to not let me slip through their fingers again. How sweet.<em>

The increasing volume of footsteps alerted Undertaker of his company. The combination of smooth soles, squeaky shoes and clacking heels made him grin. It was those three again. The three who had so kindly caught him.

"Aah, how nice of you to pay me another visit! Let's seeeeee…" He tilted his head to let his hair fall away from one eye. "You wanted to chat, yeeees?"

They emerged from the darkness and stood close enough for him to see them. William T. Spears, in his formal suit, as dull as a blackboard. Grell Sutcliff, looking at him from over the top of his glasses, a shark-toothed leer on his face. Finally Ronald Knox, the youngest, watching him with incredulity. Undertaker couldn't deny the strangeness of the situation. He had finally been caught after much effort. Undertaker remembered vaguely being Ronald's age – it was a long, long time ago – and being confused over how the reaper elders rarely showed any sign of fear on their faces, even in the direst situations. A giggle escaped him as he reminisced. He needn't have being confused.

Fear stemmed primarily from two sources: uncertainty and potential loss. Tied up in the grim reaper's prison, no punishment was beyond Undertaker's imagination. As for loss… you had nothing to fear when you had nothing to lose.

"If I were in your position, I certainly wouldn't be _laughing."_ William adjusted his glasses with the end of his scythe. "You have been charged with…" He opened a black leather book. Undertaker shook his head. This was going to be a long list. He hummed to himself as William started to read out his many, many breaches of conduct.

"…deserting without asking for leave, consequently deliberately failing to collect souls from those on your 'to-die' list for fifty years, refusing to take a soul mentioned on your 'to-die' list…"

Undertaker flicked his fringe back over his face. His vivid green eyes started to glaze over. This feeling of unbearable boredom consolidated his reasons for leaving this world and never looking back.

"…keeping your death scythe without permission, assaulting three security officers to keep said death scythe…"

How could the younger grim reapers stand all these rules and restrictions? Undertaker stole a look at his other two captors. Young Ronald was looking at his watch. On his other side, Grell watched him hungrily, as if he was trying to undress his captive with his eyes.

"…tampering with human life with unnatural means and evading capture to face up to these crimes." William finally looked up from his book and stared at his hostage, as if expecting a response. Undertaker snickered weakly.

"Hee hee! Are you done?"

The book snapped shut.

"You will face grave consequences for your actions," said William sternly. "I can't recall any other grim reaper who has committed as many offences."

"Not even me!" Grell chimed in. "Compared to you, I'm a good girl!" He waltzed over to the chair Undertaker was tied to. With an almost graceful twist of his finger he flicked his prisoner's long silver fringe to the side. His Cheshire Cat grin widened even further as he peered into Undertaker's now completely exposed eyes. "Mind you, I do like a bad boy. Bad boys make my pulse rush! You look like you could be a lot of fun."

The fact that William was not reprimanding Grell alerted Undertaker of the limitless punishments he could be subjected to. He smiled at Grell, catching the redhead off-guard. _Nothing will work. Will you degrade me? I have no dignity. Cause me pain? I have taken more than you could ever inflict on me again. Even if you kill me, I will only be changing to a different state, which could only be better than my current one. Though I don't think you can afford to kill me, can you, my little grim reapers?_

William pressed the end of his death scythe to Undertaker's throat.

"I assume you know what we want from you. We need you to answer all our questions on how exactly you managed to reanimate corpses." Undertaker smiled.

"You're not going to ask _whyyyyy_?"

"I'm actually quite curious why he'd do it," Ronald admitted. He looked like he rather regretted speaking as William shot him a cold look.

"We do not need to know why. Our role as grim reapers is to efficiently perform our duty of collecting souls on the 'to-die' list. Nothing more. Motivation and emotions have no place in our job." He flicked his death scythe to press the clippers under Undertaker's jaw. "Besides," he added darkly. "You have to learn that there is nothing – _nothing _– which could justify these severe breaches of conduct."

Grell wiggled his eyebrows and raised his leg to place his high-heeled shoe on Undertaker's lap. He seemed to be the only one enjoying himself. Undertaker couldn't help but chortle softly on concluding that this silly, flamboyant grim reaper was far more intimidating than William could ever be, no matter how much the dark-haired man waved his death scythe about.

"So," purred Grell. "Are we going to have to do this the easy way…" Undertaker felt his heel digging into his thigh. "…or the hard way?"

Grell's painful flirting made 'the easy way' seem a lot more tempting, but Undertaker had made up his mind.

"Neither. That is noooot my price for information." His lip twitched in blissful anticipation. Grell lost his smile and kicked him in the leg.

"If you are seriously suggesting we should give you a 'first-rate laugh' to make you tell, I am going to scream! And then I am going to make _you_ scream! Does that sound funny to you?" Undertaker smiled calmly.

"I wouldn't be harsh on yourself. You are the most entertaining reaper by a long way!" Grell looked insulted for a moment before smiling again. He leant close enough to Undertaker to dangle his long red hair in his face.

"Flattery doesn't get anywhere with me, bad boy."

"So boss, how are we going to make him speak?" Ronald asked warily. William drew back his death scythe and sighed.

"What is protocol for dealing with this type of delinquent is to leave him without food or water. The usual timespan is three days."

Ronald gulped. Through Grell's tumbling red mane, Undertaker could see the youngster looking at his bony hands with discomfort. Undertaker just smiled. He knew they weren't going to let him starve to death without gaining their precious information. It was just an unnecessary, uncomfortable and – this thought made him frown – _boring_ waste of time.

"Are you sure that's for the best, sir?" Ronald said with a nervous smile. "He's powerful, sure, but he is an old man…"

"You cannot be soft on rule-breakers, Knox," William replied firmly. "You might not have bared witness to any serious punishments thus far, but now is your chance to learn. Depriving him is, as a matter of fact, one of the softest punishments." He pushed up his glasses again. Undertaker wondered why he didn't get a better-fitting pair, or hook his on a chain like Grell. "Our job is now to guard him as he reflects over what he has done and sees our reasoning. We will not speak to him or give him any distractions. Knox, you will be on guard duty today."

"But sir, I have a date tonight-!" William's death scythe struck him on the head, making him yelp.

"Appreciate the seriousness of the situation," William said with a glare. "This could be the turning point of grim reaper history, when we find out the true dynamics of human life. A pinnacle of understanding. Ronald Knox, _your date does not matter."_

Ronald looked put out, but nodded his head. William looked back at his other colleague, who was breathing nonsensical sweet-nothings down Undertaker's ear. Undertaker had stopped listening a while ago. Watching William Shakespeare's cinematic record had given him enough _Romeo and Juliet _to last him a few more years yet.

"Sutcliff," William said sharply, like a man calling his dog across a park. "We will take over Knox's guarding duties in twenty-four hours from now. He looked at his watch before walking back into the darkness. Grell abandoned Undertaker and skipped after him.

"You want to keep me company? Oh, Will!"

"I simply cannot trust you to not talk to him alone," was the monotonous reply.

Undertaker and Ronald met each other's eyes. Ronald sighed and disappeared into the darkness. He returned with a chair and sat down, resigned.

"Isn't your job so fun and liberating?" Undertaker asked him cheerfully.

The young reaper gave no reply. Undertaker leant back in his chair, feeling a huge bruise on his back as he pressed his spine against the edge of the chair. This was going to be a long three days. He looked around at his surroundings. A bright light gleamed down at him, shining on him like a spotlight. Everywhere else was a black mist. He was unable to see beyond the shadows.

"I can see why you want to work here! A job brimmed with glorious paperwork, charming colleagues and rewarding overtime-!"

"Can't you just go to your happy place or something?" Ronald moaned.

Undertaker looked back at Ronald, who had his head in his hands. The young reaper was clearly going to be a good boy and obey his boss by not talking to his hostage. Undertaker took one more look around the room and concluded that Ronald's advice was perfectly sound. He closed his eyes and took himself back to a better time…

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><p>He was back in his beloved funeral parlour, humming 'Jingle Bells' happily to himself as he tied red ribbons around coffins. The Christmas cheer at this time of year was contagious even for Undertaker. He took a step back, admiring his handiwork. <em>Just like a Christmas present. Won't his family be pleased?<em>

He turned his attention to the door as he heard a series of hesitant knocks. A smile stretched across his face. What fun, another guest! He quickly looked around for last-minute inspiration of a sinister prank to play on his poor visitor. An unfortunate, sizable spider crept too close to his hand. Perfect. A moment later, the spider was trapped in his hand, underneath his long sleeves. Very soon, it would be down his visitor's neck. He gleefully opened the door.

"Hee hee! I bid ye good tidings, my…" His words trailed off as he was met by Lady Claudia Phantomhive, the young wife of his regular customer, Earl Phantomhive. "My lady, what do I owe the pleasure?"

"G-good evening, Mister Undertaker," the lady said politely, closing her umbrella. "I'm sorry to call on you at this hour. Can I come in?"

She seemed nervous. This was the first time she had properly paid him a visit alone. Undertaker smiled.

"If you can walk, I imagine you _can _come in…"

"Oh, yes, of course. _May _I come in?"

"You may! Come join me in the London funhouse, Lady Phantomhive!" He giggled at her bewilderment as she followed him into the parlour. His giggling turned into hysterical cackling as he felt the spider trying to wriggle free from his enclosed hand. He set it down on the table. The mental image of her reaction was good enough for now.

Undertaker gestured for her to take a seat. She looked around and carefully seated herself on one of his festively wrapped coffins. He sat opposite her, grinning, his concealed eyes fixed on her.

"It's a surprise to see you without his lordship. What might have occurred, hmm?" Lady Phantomhive cleared her throat.

"I just wanted to report back to say that my husband caught the murderer of Lord Willis. I… came to thank you, Mister Undertaker. He could have not done it without your assistance."

From under his fringe, Undertaker raised his eyebrows. Someone was _thanking _him?

"It's all part of my job, my lady."

"Yes, but…" She paused before continuing. "I respect you working to help us. No one ever has to help anyone, but it's nice when they do."

Well, this was new. Someone with no expectations. Undertaker propped his chin on his hand, considering her. Lady Phantomhive had travelled out to his shop, alone, in the rain, to pay him a thank you he didn't even expect. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Well, for the right price, I am always willing to help." He bounced his ankle as he watched her. She finally returned a small smile, seeming more relaxed. His smile grew – he wanted her to be at ease. This realisation made him chuckle. Usually he got far more entertainment out of making his customers _not _at ease.

After a pause, the lady reached for her bag. _Look, a noble who lifts a finger. _She drew out a small biscuit tin.

"I tried my hand at baking the other day," she began. "Now, I swear I don't know how this happened, but…"

She held out the tin. Undertaker took it from her and opened the lid. What he saw made him made him nearly drop the tin in laughter. He quickly placed it next to him and let himself shake with uncontrollable giggling.

"They're BONE-SHAPED!" he screeched. He rolled backwards of his coffin, crying slightly with laughter. The concerned look Lady Phantomhive gave him set him off again. He struggled for breath. "That is too perfect! You, Lady Phantomhive, the demure bringer of death!"

"I didn't mean for them to turn out like that!" Lady Phantomhive shook her head, looking embarrassed.

"No, you might have meant something else," Undertaker grinned wickedly as he pulled himself back onto his coffin. "Your poor husband must be a hungry guard-dog. What better way to reward him than to give a dog a bone?"

He sniggered while she appeared to process this suggestion. Slowly, an amused smile crept onto her lips. Undertaker opened his hands to take back the bone-shaped biscuits.

"Are they for me?"

"Yes, if you would like them." She watched him with contented eyes as he crunched into one, his cheeks puffed out with pleasure. "No one else wanted to touch them. They thought they would die if they so much as took a bite. I promise I didn't poison them. I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind. Consider them a thank you gift."

"You must teach me how to make these," he replied, happily cramming another into his mouth. "They beat the ordinary rectangles any day of the week." Lady Phantomhive looked up at him hopefully.

"I would be welcome to come here? Are we therefore friends?"

Undertaker gulped down his mouthful. _Friends with a human, hmm? That could be… entertaining._

"Perhaps? Given what I am, it would make a lot of sense to be friends with the bringer of death, wouldn't it now?"

Lady Phantomhive smiled.

"Then perhaps, as a friend, you would like to come to our next ball? To be perfectly frank, our social events could use some… humour."

Undertaker thought of a crowded ballroom, filled with humans involved in crooked dealings. _No. That is dangerous territory. I might meet something more noxious than a human crook._

"I don't go to balls, my lady."

"…Oh." Her genuine disappointment surprised him. He bent his head to hide this fact. He had been serving as a grim reaper for so long, he shouldn't feel surprised anymore. To distract himself, he took another biscuit and twisted it in his hand.

"Your husband has come here alone countless times for information and he _still _struggles to admit to people that we are even acquaintances. Then here you come and declare our friendship instantly." He gave her a crooked smile. "Are you not afraid of being laughed at?"

"I don't care if I am laughed at," was her simple reply. Undertaker raised his eyebrows.

"I don't believe you. You're a lady from the noble realm – your very life depends on you _not _being laughed at."

Lady Phantomhive seemed to consider this for a moment.

"I think it's high time everyone lowered their expectations," she said softly. "A lady has to do this, a gentleman has to do that, an undertaker has to be this… does it really matter?" Undertaker had to pause himself before answering.

"Society as a whole thinks so, my lady."

Lady Phantomhive unexpectedly smiled.

"Well, it matters less to me. Perhaps having something to laugh at would do everyone some good. After all, think about the world…" She earnestly met his eyes through their curtain of hair. Despite the veil, she was looking right into them. "How sad it would be, should laughter disappear."

Undertaker opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He could not dispute that last. His companion stood up.

"I must be making tracks. I didn't even tell my husband I was going out." Undertaker came to his senses again and gave a small giggle.

"Of course. I expect he would throw quite the tantrum if he knew you were gone. What is that phrase your kind like to use? 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder?'"

"That's an optimistic way of describing it. It was nice to see you, Mister Undertaker."

"Yes… how… _entertaining_ it was to see you, Lady Phantomhive."

She paused as she collected her bag.

"In future, when we are alone together as we are now, you might like to call me 'Claudia'. That is the name that really belongs to me." She looked at him expectantly. Undertaker realised she was implicitly asking for his name – his real name – in return.

"What do you think of my coffins?" he asked her, throwing off the question. "Aren't they pretty? Don't you think their families would be happy on receiving them all nicely wrapped for their funeral?"

Claudia looked at the brightly wrapped coffins. Her lip twitched up in a way which Undertaker recognised as a supressed smile. Or perhaps supressed horror.

"Yes. I'm sure they would be… delighted. You might have discovered what they secretly wanted for Christmas." She fiddled with her umbrella. "Well, until next time, Mister Undertaker."

"Until we meet again!" He felt his mouth spreading into a smile, a softer one than his usual twisted grins. "You are welcome any time… _Claudia._"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters. They belong to Yana Toboso.**

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><p>The sound of a key turning jolted Undertaker out of his stupor. It took a moment for him to remember he was back in the grim reaper prison. He looked up to see the red and black blurred figures of Grell and William approaching from the darkness. Twenty-four hours down. Forty-eight to go.<p>

Ronald sat dozing in his chair. He nearly sprang out of his seat when Grell slammed a hand down on his shoulder.

"Hello, Ronald!" he sang in an upbeat voice. Undertaker wondered whether Grell was trying to sound sweet, but the dissonant happiness came across as sounding rather sinister. "Was our bad boy any trouble for you?"

He looked over and met Undertaker's eyes. He flicked up his eyebrows suggestively and smiled like a dragon bearing its teeth. Ronald stretched his limbs lazily.

"Nah, he wasn't too bad. He was mostly asleep or daydreaming while I was guarding."

Grell put his hands on his hips, looking rather disappointed.

"How dull." Undertaker felt Grell's gaze hone in on him. The red-haired reaper eyed him up from his bound ankles, to his legs, then holding his gaze for a considerable amount of time on his torso, up until he met his face again. Grell grinned and sashayed up to him. "I'd much rather spend my time with someone who is more… _active_ at night."

"Sutcliff, must I remind you to not interact with our prisoner?" William clicked his hedge-clipper scythe warningly. Undertaker noticed a trace of triumph in Grell's smile as he turned and flocked back towards William.

"Oh no, darling Will! Why would I, when I could interact with _you?_ What a delectable plan of yours to have us on duty together, Will! You and I, nearly alone with each other for twenty-four hours, with nothing to break us apart! Doesn't the thought send thrills up your body?"

"No."

"That's exactly as it should be," Grell preened. "It wouldn't nearly be as thrilling if you admitted to it. A predictable romance is just _lacklustre_-"

"Okay, okay, that's just great!" Ronald jumped up from his chair and held up his hands, as if trying to warn a charging bull to slow down to no effect. "So since I'm done here, can I leave you two to your 'thrilling time' with each other?"

"That is no way to speak to your seniors, Knox," William replied icily.

Ronald bit his lip and smiled uneasily.

"Sorry boss. It's just – after a whole day of doing almost nothing you kind of forget your manners, you know?"

"Grim reapers have to maintain their professionalism at all times, regardless of the circumstances," William said. He had one of the most mechanical voices Undertaker had heard for half a century.

"Should I come back in twenty-four hours, sir?"

"No. The two of us will guard him for the next two days." Ronald's shoulders sank in relief before William added, "During those two days you shall complete the mandatory paperwork on our case. Fill in the prisoner assessment form, the mission evaluation review, update the report on our transgressor and look through the Discipline Act 1587, which you have clearly neglected to read. Report back here in forty-eight hours sharp."

Undertaker smirked. Such was William's sheer sense of professionalism that he used ridiculous phrases like 'forty-eight hours sharp.'

"I have placed all the paperwork on your desk," William stated.

Ronald blinked.

"…Thank you for your consideration, sir," he sighed.

He trailed off into the dark, walking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The sound of a heavy iron door shutting rang through the cell.

Undertaker licked his lips, aware of how dry they were. He calmly willed himself to be patient – he would be given food and water eventually. Still, his mind wandered back to the last time he could remember drinking. The raindrops that he had caught on his tongue as he had tried to fight off William, Grell and Ronald simultaneously surely didn't count. He guessed that was about a day before he woke up in prison.

Oh, the Great Capture Mission… it would go down as an unforgettable day in grim reaper history, but Undertaker struggled to recall the exact sequence of events leading to his capture. _That night_,_ I had been watching my young Earl Phantomhive patrolling the streets with the help of his noxious pet demon Sebastian Michaelis, wondering when it would be best to reappear to them. Then what?_ He suppressed a wince as a sharp pain pierced the back of his head.

_Before I could decide, the little grim reapers ambushed me. I couldn't risk the demon overhearing and drawing himself and the boy into a three-way fight with five supernatural beings, could IIII? So I was forced to teleport to a remote field. The reaper trio followed me there._

Undertaker thought of how Grell and Ronald had improved since their last fight. Their main mistakes back on the Campania had been their predictable attacks, being distracted by Sebastian and attacking him one at a time. This time, they were focused, cunning and above all, the three _worked together._ That was the key. In fact, it was common sense. Even the most skilled, experienced fighters couldn't block hits coming from three different places.

He wasn't sure if it was a chainsaw, a hedge clipper or a lawnmower that had delivered the knockout blow, but however it happened, Undertaker couldn't help but give a bitter laugh. The little grim reapers deserved to have their moment of glory...

While it lasted.

There was a moment of silence as Undertaker acknowledged that he was now in the company of William and Grell for the next forty-eight hours. That was two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes with a monotonous man who sucked the humour out of everything just by opening his mouth… and a violent eccentric who had surely not forgotten that his hostage had harmed his prize possession, his face, in their last encounter.

William sat down on Ronald's vacated chair. Grell gave a smug smile and sauntered towards his boss, his hips swishing.

"So," he slurred. "What _shall _we do?"

William looked up at him under sloped eyelids. He already appeared tired of Grell.

_Don't worry, William! Only two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-nine minutes to goooo!_

"We will do as I explained, Sutcliff. We will guard the prisoner and not speak to him until he is prepared to give us the information we require of him."

For a short moment, Grell looked disappointed. Then he simpered and batted his suspiciously long eyelashes.

"Oh Will, that focused passion of yours sets my heart ablaze! However…" He placed his hands on the back of William's chair and snaked them down the sides as he spoke. "How about we do something… exciting?"

"What in death's name are you suggesting?"

Undertaker grinned. Asking Grell to clarify, a fatal mistake. This was one of the very rare occasions where curiosity really did kill the cat! Grell wriggled his shoulders in dramatic eagerness.

"Don't you see it? We're here, in this dark cell, together for _hours_. Just. With. Each. Other!"

"And a criminal."

"Fine – just with each other and the Undertaker. But my dear Will, it is the nearest we are going to be alone for goodness knows how long! Perhaps we should…" His voice dropped to a purr which Undertaker imagined was supposed to sound sensual. "Seize the opportunity?" Suddenly the deathly clippers were an inch from Grell's face. Grell jerked back. "Not the face!"

"Sutcliff, understand this. _This mission _is the 'opportunity' of a lifetime. At the present moment, there is nothing more important than collecting this information and punishing the worst rule-breaker of our time. Appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Now sit down and _behave._"

Grell pouted and stepped back. However, Undertaker sensed that Grell's displays were far from over. The gleaming green eyes that met his from over thick red lenses confirmed this deduction. The red-haired reaper once again slunk over to the chair to which Undertaker was bound. Grell's pink tongue slid over his sharp teeth as he gazed down at his captive audience.

"What do you say, troublemaker? Should I sit down and behave… or should I…" His face was now inches from Undertaker's. "Should I cause a stir?"

If there was a way to make every word in the English dictionary sound lecherous, Grell had found it. Undertaker looked over Grell's shoulder at William, wondering why he hadn't reacted to his employee's antics. The dark-haired man was sitting still in his seat, his face unchanged. Undertaker then realised that William was deliberately not reacting, because a reaction would be exactly what Grell wanted. Undertaker smirked. The little red reaper was trying to make his boss _jealous_ in his delusional way.

Unfortunately, if William wouldn't give Grell a reaction, Grell would only 'bring out the big guns', as the reapers from America would say. Even more unfortunately, his weapon-of-choice happened to be Undertaker. Black gloved hands reached out and wrapped around locks of Undertaker's hair.

"Why is it that the men I know are so stoic?" Grell mused. "I rather like a strong, silent aura, it's so seductively mysterious." His voice took on a dangerous tone. "However, I also like these men to express some… _emotion_!" He gave Undertaker's hair a viciously playful tug. The older reaper had to supress a hiss of pain as his head lurched sharply with the pull. Looking into Grell's pleased face, Undertaker made his most worrying observation so far: here he was, at the mercy of a man who seemed unable to separate pain from pleasure, and in their last encounter, he had made this man angry. No matter how attractive Grell found him, he would not spare him for 'cutting a lady's face.'

A memory loomed darkly from the abandoned sector of his mind. A memory of a glistening blade digging into skin, and a gashed face that would never completely heal…

Undertaker shut his eyes and searched for another moment in time, anything, to replace the one threatening to make its reappearance. He found one and clung to it – a memory of another surprisingly cunning mind, which craved love and excitement to the point of grasping at a different straw to the one given to her.

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><p>He was now walking up to the entrance of the Phantomhive Manor, fiddling with the cuffs of his blazer. The invitation to the ball had suggested black tie, but Undertaker's outfits did not consist of appropriate ballroom attire, so his suit would have to do. He tugged slightly at his tie. Looking at his clothes, he resembled a teacher more than a party guest.<p>

Maybe being a teacher one day would be fun!

The footman standing at the door looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing at his long, unkempt hair, but let him in without another word as Undertaker showed him his signed invitation. Undertaker peered through his fringe at the scene before him; if he looked through the strands of hair his line of vision sharpened considerably. He had always thought balls were supposed to be bright, lively events, yet everyone here looked like they didn't want to be there, except perhaps the guests who looked like they were on their fourth glass of wine. Despite the orchestra's valiant attempt at playing a waltz, the red-faced dancers were linking arms and dancing a wild jig.

They probably thought they were being hilarious. Undertaker watched them with little amusement. If people had to be drunk to be entertaining, the world's level of humour had reached an all-time low. No wonder his human friend was despairing.

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise! I am so glad to see you here!"

Undertaker's spirits lifted as soon as he heard her voice. Lady Claudia advanced across the hall to meet him, her husband following all-too-closely. She gave a curtsey, and when she raised her head Undertaker could see her bright smile. The earl, however, looked less than pleased to see him.

"Undertaker," Lord Phantomhive coughed. "How… unusual for you to make an appearance here."

Judging by the earl's expression, Undertaker reckoned his appearance had sabotaged the respectability of the earl's event. This thought made him snicker. Now he was truly happy he had come.

"Well, we are delighted to see you, Mister Undertaker!" Claudia enthused. Her husband shot her a warning glance. Undertaker gave her a crafty grin.

"Hee hee! The delight is mine, _Lady Phantomhive."_ He said her title with precision. A small smile played on her lips. Their friendship was their little secret.

The miniature orchestra started playing another waltz. Lord Phantomhive grunted and held out the crook of his arm to his wife, more as a demand than an offer. Claudia slowly took it. Undertaker saw her smile weaken.

"Please do join us," she said as she was led to the far side of the hall. Lord Phantomhive blew out through his lips in annoyance. Undertaker snickered as he followed them. This was going to be a fun evening.

The earl drew his wife over to a settee, which was only large enough for the pair of them. Undertaker took the armchair opposite. A footman approached them and nervously offered the three a silver platter. The Phantomhives declined. Undertaker however grabbed a handful of miniature sandwiches and cocktail sausages and chewed them happily. Claudia gave him a discreet smile as her husband leant back as far away from him as possible.

"So, what were you saying about the Bramley case?" Claudia asked her husband. He clicked his teeth irritably in response.

"You know full well that I cannot disclose any details in front of…" He nodded his head towards Undertaker. Undertaker shook his head, smiling. Really, Earl Phantomhive had far less in the way of discretionary powers than Claudia. It was lucky that the Queen's Watchdog was an inherited role, or else the earl would be out of a job.

"Come come, Lord Earl! We all dwell in the underworld here." Undertaker leant forward in his seat, enjoying the fact that this was only making the earl lean dangerously far back_. It would be wonderful if he toppled out of his seat._ "You know my curiosity knows no bounds!"

"You have a price for information, and so do we," the lord replied curtly.

Undertaker giggled.

"Do you use the same currency as me?"

"Laughter never solves any long-term problems," was the cold reply.

"Ohhh, I don't know about that."

Claudia glanced between them nervously as silence fell between the men. She cleared her throat and gave one of the most appalling attempts at a smile that Undertaker had ever seen. He decided to make another attempt at conversation.

For her sake.

"I do like your dress, Lady Phantomhive."

"You do? Thank you!"

The earl narrowed his eyes at Undertaker.

"Why do _you _like it? It's _pink_."

"Pink happens to be one of my favourite colours!" Undertaker replied cheerfully. The earl blinked at him in disbelief. "Though of course it looks far prettier on her ladyship than it would on me, but I can dare to dream, can't I, Lord Earl?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Claudia said, smiling archly. "I think it would look delightful on you, Mister Undertaker. Do let me know if you would like to borrow it, if you are stuck for an idea on how to entertain your guests."

"He doesn't entertain his guests," her husband interjected. "He forces them to entertain him."

Claudia laughed as if he had told a witty joke. She laid a hand on his knee.

"You are very welcome to borrow my dress too dear, if it would please you."

"It most certainly would not," the earl replied humourlessly. He pushed her hand away. "In fact, I think I have had my share of nonsense for the night. I will be in my room."

With that, the earl rose from his seat and left, clearly in a bad temper. Claudia watched him leave anxiously. Undertaker noticed a blush of shame creeping across her cheeks. A few of the guests had turned their heads to see the excitement and started whispering under their breath. Undertaker usually relished breaking social norms – everyone's expressions when he did, so entertaining – but he was renowned for being a disturbing, eccentric trickster who was necessary to turn to when the Queen had problems. He could afford to break social norms, but the wife of a semi-respected noble could not. He searched for a way to smooth over the situation.

"What a lovely hairstyle you have, too," he said. Claudia shyly raised her fan to obscure her face.

"Should I follow him?" she whispered. Undertaker shook his head.

"Let him cool off first. Humans can be easily angered over trivial things, then lose their anger quickly."

"Humans?" Claudia raised her eyebrows, confused.

Undertaker just smiled. _Wouldn't you like to know? _He pointed at her hair.

"A plait, I believe you call it! Perhaps I would look prettier with one too!"

Claudia lowered her fan, a smile emerging on her face.

"You certainly would." She beckoned for him to join her on the settee. The onlookers had gone back to drinking, dancing and gossiping about others.

Claudia slowly began to relax as she wove three thin tresses of his hair into a long plait. Her fingers moved carefully, as if she were plaiting a horse's mane. The twisting movement tickled Undertaker's scalp. The corner of his mouth trembled – he was rather ticklish. Back at the grim reaper academy, he had had to train hard to prevent others from using this to their advantage.

_Heh._

He knew he was letting his guard down to an almost vulnerable level. She was a human, a fragile creature with an inevitable fate written down in a black book. If she were to find out what he was, she would surely fear him.

What was he doing? More importantly, why was he doing this?

_I just find you entertaining, Claudia Phantomhive. It would amuse me if I could improve your life._


End file.
